The Fighter
by xxJumpThenFallxx
Summary: The lover held her love, She begged him not to go, The fighter wrapped his gloves, The fighter said I know, I know, I know. Based on The Fighter by The Fray - Claire and Shane.


**Songfic to The Fighter by the Fray. Would be a good idea to listen to the song before/during/after you read this but you don't have to. Just read the lyrics. First fan-fic but I thought I'd give it a try. Tell me what you think!**

**Shane is still part of the gym, and he's regularly fighting. Claire hates it. Might be slightly OCC at parts, and some dark themes. Enjoy!**

* * *

_The lover held her love  
She begged him not to go  
The fighter wrapped his gloves  
The fighter said I know, I know, I know  
Just this one last time  
I swear you'll still be mine  
But he can't promise much  
He goes for one last touch  
One last touch _

"Please, Shane." Claire squeezes her eyes shut, a few tears spilling over, as her voice breaks. She knows she sounds pitiful and desperate, but she can't stop pleading. "Please don't go. Don't go tonight."

Shane exhales worriedly, putting down the gloves he's wrapping. In a few short strides, he's by her side, pulling her into his strong arms. He _hates _seeing her like this, it kills him inside. So broken and desolate and afraid.

"I know, I know, I know." he whispers into her hair as she begins to sob against his shirt, clutching it with feeble fingers.

"Just this one last time." he promises as he strokes her hair. Both of them know it's a lie.

"I swear you'll still be mine." he soothes, holding her so tight it should hurt, but she wants it more than anything. Almost anything.

They both know he can't keep his promises.

Slowly, painfully, Shane lets go of her. Claire doesn't resist, sliding back onto the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, tears streaming down her pale face, but not making a sound. She just watches him with her huge, desperate eyes.

Softly, so softly, he leans in and presses his lips against her forehead. She closes her eyes, struggling to hold back her sobs, just feeling the touch.

_One last touch_, he promises himself as he touches his fingertip to her lips. _One last touch_.

Without another word, he grabs his gloves from the table, shoulders his bag, and walks out into the dark night. The door swings shut behind him, the latch locking, just as Claire collapses into sobs.

* * *

_Maybe we were meant to be lonely, lonely  
Maybe we were meant to be on our own  
Loneliness has always been with me, with me  
But maybe we don't have to be all alone _

A fast jab, to throw his opponent off balance, then a hard hit to the stomach.

That feeling, rooted deep inside, fed by ugly snarls and vicious hits and the release that came from drugs. When his sister was gone, his mum was gone, all his friends were gone, his dad was as good as gone. That feeling that no matter how hard he tries, he can never quite block out – no matter how much he drank or injected or fought back then. _Loneliness_. Maybe that was the way he's supposed to be. People close to him only ever get hurt. Maybe he's never meant to have anyone close to him.

Arms locked around his opponents neck, preventing him from moving, before slamming him down on the ground.

Sitting alone in a dirty, cheap hotel room – empty bottles scattered everywhere, blood stains still on the bathroom door, and the chilled, free feeling that came from the syringe in his arm. _Alone_. Where he could hurt no one, no one could be hurt by him. Maybe he's meant to be back there, on his own, leaving everyone else safe.

The blow to the head makes him stagger – the world spins before his eyes for a moment, before he steadies himself. Not fast enough. His opponent is on him in a flash, knocking him to the ground, winding him.

For a long time, he was sure it was the only thing he'd ever feel. Alone in the world, uncared for, unimportant, useless. It's always a part of him, always will be. It's engraved into his very soul, inescapable. How can he ever _not_ feel the terrible loneliness?

He manages to flip his opponent round, pinning him down, and slams his fist into the man's face with enough force to break his nose. If he can manage a few more hits, the man's a sure-win.

Then she came along, covered in bruises and tears, so helpless yet determined. She made him ashamed of the dark thoughts in his head, helped him see the brighter side of things – she believed in him unconditionally and without evidence. She wriggled her way into his head and into his heart, and showed him there was another way. When he's with her, he realizes maybe he _doesn't_ have to always be alone.

* * *

_The fighter goes inside  
The doubt is creeping in  
He swings with all his might  
At all that might have been  
And she's in love with him  
But lovers don't always win  
He never even saw the swing  
She calls out his name  
Calls his name _

Claire clutches Eve's hand tightly, too tightly, as she watches him go into that building. That terrible, terrible building. As usual, the terror sets in. Easily, too easily, he could never exit that door again. Her friend doesn't make a sound of complaint despite the pain in her hand. She can see the doubt in Claire's face – doubt if Shane can survive it this time.

He closes his eyes, focusing on keeping his breathing under control, hands braced on the wall either side of the mirror. The gritty bathroom is the size of a closet, but he needs it to get his head together. He can do this. He was made for this, born for this. The doubting himself is natural, normal. Once he steps into the ring, he'll forget it all.

Nothing else matters, nothing else even exists, as Shane's fist slams into the other man's face, knocking him backwards. The sickening crack of the man's nose gives him a twisted sort of high. So he does it again. It's like if he fights hard enough, if his hits are strong enough, if he gives it everything, he can get rid of some of this darkness inside of him. Ease the loneliness, the anger, the pain.

Claire feels her heart breaking, every time she watches him. Every time he leaves her. Every time she sees that look in his eyes. She loves him, oh, she loves him so much. From the moment they met, she'd been his. No matter what happens, her heart will always belong to him – forever and always. All the pain she feels – she knows she's in love with him to stay, to keep going.

The happily-ever-after in fairy-tales isn't real, that she knows. Not every story has a happy ending. Sometimes, love can't conquer all. Sometimes it isn't enough.

As he pauses, wiping the sweat from his forehead and trying to control his rapid breathing, he catches sight of her. She's come. In the middle of the shouting and cheering, she looks very alone and very young. Beautiful, too, so beautiful it hurts him. She's with Michael and Eve, between them, clutching both their hands, but he doesn't even notice them. She's watching him, too, her face pale and strained with fear. Fear for him.

So busy is he looking at her, he never even sees the swing coming. It comes from nowhere, seemingly – one moment he's staring at Claire and the next, agony explodes in his head, a horrifying crack fills his ears and everything goes black.

"_Shane_!" she screams, throwing herself forward as if she can reach him, trying to get to him, protect him before he gets harmed any further. Michael and Eve are holding her back – Michael's talking urgently in her ear and Eve's crying, but she doesn't hear them. She's struggling and flailing, desperate to help him. He's on the ground – blood pooling on the ground, his eyes shut. The giant of a man towers over him, fist already raised for another blow.

"_Shane_!"

* * *

_Maybe we were meant to be lonely, lonely  
Maybe we were meant to be on our own  
Loneliness has always been with me, with me  
But maybe we don't have to be all alone_

He survived it this time, but he was lucky. Somehow, his jaw isn't broken – the doctors say it's a miracle. The force of the blow has left the entire right side of his face bruised and swollen, and he can only manage liquid foods for a week. She never leaves his side, not to go to class, not to sleep, not to eat, nothing. It heals, just as it should, but that haunted look is back in her eyes, that constant fear. He's had worse injuries, they know, but deep inside she knows it can't continue. No one's body is meant to sustain this kind of abuse. The more he fights, the stronger the need inside of him. It's a need even she can't beat.

* * *

_What breaks your bones  
Is not the load you're carrying  
What breaks you down  
Is all in how you carry _

If it was just him, he could do it. If all a hit meant was a week of pain, he could manage. It's the way she weeps when he's hurt, the distress in her eyes when she sees his injuries, the anguish in her voice when she begs him to stop. The thing that gets inside his head and prevents him from sleeping at night is her. How much he's hurting her. The damage he's doing to her, to her heart and to her very soul. Yet he can't stop. Not now. He can't stop.

* * *

_The lover held her love  
She begged him not to go  
She unwrapped his gloves  
The lover said I know, I know, I know _

They lay side by side on his bed, embraced so closely they seemed almost one person. She'd held him so many times before, but this time was different. This time there was a sense of urgency, an overhanging darkness, the dread filling her heart unable to be ignored.

"_Please_," she whimpers, just as she has so many times before – yet she's never meant it as much as this. There's never been such utter heartbreak in her voice. "Please don't go. Please don't leave me. Just stay. Stay for me. Stay for us. _Please_."

Her hysterics from earlier in the day had run their course, worn themselves out, been used up – leaving her feeling physically sick and numb – she couldn't admit it, couldn't accept it, couldn't think it. She'd unwrapped his gloves, put away his kit, emptied out his 'energy' drinks. She'd refused to let him go, sobbed and screamed, let all her feelings tumble out, done her best to stop him. It hadn't worked, and now her hope was gone. She knew she'd never had a chance from the beginning, really – the darkness inside him was too strong. He loved her, she knew that. But it wasn't enough. _She_ wasn't enough to stop him going.

"I can't loose you. I can't go on without you, Shane, I can't. I'll fall apart. I can't live without you." she whispers, eyes closed, mouth inches from his. He can feel her breath as she speaks.

"Just this-"

"Just this one last time. I know, I know, I know." she whispers, just a hint of bitterness in her tone.

"Claire..." he starts. His voice trails off. What can he say? How can he explain this feeling in his heart, ready to explode, fighting to get out? How can he explain the release that comes with every hit, how it eases that agonizing tension in his chest for just a moment? She knows, anyway – she sees it in his eyes.

He'd thought his heart was already too damaged, beyond repair, from earlier – it had been agony, the worst form of torture, not giving her what she wanted, what she _needed_. He could have ended her suffering, stopped the tears and mended her breaking heart. He should have. He knew he should. But something stopped him. Something inside him wouldn't let him.

This though, he realizes, is worse.

* * *

_Kissed his trembling lips  
She touched his fingertips  
But somehow they both know  
He's not coming home  
Coming home_

Claire leans in, pressing her swollen lips against his. His are trembling – she can sense his fear. It's not a proper kiss – they've had those. This one is different – sweet, slow, light.

"I'll be okay." he says quietly against her lips. "I always make it through, don't I?"

But He's different, she thinks, this time you're not fighting an equal. He's a vampire. He's one of the strongest vampires. He's had decades of training. You've had a few months. No one could make it through.

He holds his hand out to her – a question, a plead. Hesitantly, she touches her fingertips against his.

"How about we get away? This weekend, once this is over. We'll get permission from Amelie, you know she'll give it to you. Just me and you, somewhere far away from this town." even as he says the words, they feel wrong. Like an empty promise.

"Sure." she replies softly, "I'd like that."

They can make plans, but neither of them believes it. Deep inside, they know this fight is too hard. Strong as he may be, he can't beat this vampire.

They both know he's not coming home.

* * *

_Loneliness has always been with me, with me  
Maybe we were meant to be on our own  
But I got to try or it will destroy me  
'Cause maybe we don't have to be all alone _

From the day his house burned, the day his little sister was lost to the fire, there'd been a power inside of him, a relentless anger that he'd tried to control. When he lost his mum, it had overwhelmed it. That time was a blur, but he knows he'd fought. A lot. It was when he'd discovered that lashing out helped ease the darkness, make it easier to control. If he focused on it, channelled it, he could almost pretend he wasn't lonely.

Maybe he's meant to be this – a fighter. Maybe he's meant to die here, die now – maybe he's never supposed to have love. Maybe she's never meant to get involved with him, maybe she'll be better off on her own. If he dies, he knows she won't ever let someone in again. Not after the irreparable hurt he's caused her. She'll be alone forever. Maybe that's how she's meant to be.

But he's in love with her. He's never been more sure of anything. She makes him feel alive, feel okay inside. She doesn't _use_ the darkness the way fighting does – she makes it disappear. He thinks of all the little things about her – the way her hair looks red in the sunlight, the way she 's so dedicated to her studies, the fierce loyalty she has towards anyone she cares about. Now the memories are flooding in – the first time he'd seen her, beaten and bruised but somehow still strong. The night he went to her room, her uncertainty and how beautiful she'd been, shy and innocent but not afraid. Never afraid. So many times she's stayed strong when everyone else is falling apart, been fearless.

If he gives into that anger and hate and grief and jealousy and all the ugly feelings that make up the black void in his soul, he'll fight the vampire, and he'll be destroyed. He's letting this destroy him, because he thinks there's no other way.

Except for her. She can save him. If he's with her, she can make him well, make him okay.

Maybe they don't have to be all alone.

Shane pushes the crowd around him away, and steps out of the ring. There are shouts of outrage and confusion from behind him, but it doesn't matter. He just walks right out, past the changing rooms and the gym and the speechless spectators.

He can make it by – if he has her.


End file.
